


All of the Above and Much More Besides

by eirenical (chibi1723)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Blow Jobs, Closet Sex, Explicit Language, Interrupted Sex, Joly & Bossuet Laigle & Grantaire Friendship, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Combeferre/Courfeyrac, Minor Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Minor Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Relationship(s), Reunions, Sexual Tension, Technology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 22:43:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi1723/pseuds/eirenical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I can't decide if you're as much of an elitist little shit as you're coming across or if you're just scared."</p><p> <b>Written for the following prompt on Rue Plumet Fest 2013:</b><br/><i>Enjolras works as a teacher at a highschool and Grantaire works at the AV guy and Enjolras is hopelessly lost among all the new technology and he has to call Grantaire in every other day to deal with problems and Grantaire being himself picks arguments with Enjolras’ powerpoints and videos that he shows and they argue but he helps out and fixes everything anyways and eventually Enjolras ends up just coming up with problems for Grantaire to help him with and Grantaire is all “i can fix that” and even the students ship them.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	All of the Above and Much More Besides

**Author's Note:**

> **_November 16, 2013:_** When I saw this prompt on Rue Plumet Fest I fell instantly in love with it and the headcanon for the fic blossomed in my head almost immediately. Thank you so much, anon recipient, for giving me the opportunity to explore the wonderful world of this prompt in more detail. I had a lot of fun with it and I hope it lives up to your expectations!
> 
> [tumblr post](http://eirenical.tumblr.com/post/70929784709/all-of-the-above-and-much-more-besides-12007).
> 
> * * *

"Mr. Enjolras?"

"In a minute, Jackie." Enjolras returned to his glaring contest with the blank screen in front of him, unwilling to admit defeat to a machine but at a complete loss as to how to get it to do as he wished.

"Mr. Enjolras?"

Enjolras let out a heavy sigh. "Not now, Jackie. I'll talk to you in a minute." There had to be something he was missing, some button to push or switch to flip, _something_ that would make this damned thing work. He would figure it out. He'd navigated a dual master's degree program in no more than the amount of time normally required for one. He'd testified before the Supreme Court of the United States. He'd debated senators, congressmen, the financial elite. He was a _good_ teacher. He would not be defeated by a device that a nine year old could operate unassisted.

"But, Mr. Enjolras…"

Enjolras rounded on the student standing behind him, a scowl on his face and a snarl in his voice. "Damn it, Jackie! I said, 'Not now!'"

A hush fell over the class and Enjolras took a deep breath, willing his temper back under control. It wasn't the children's fault. This was the first day of school. They were as innocent in this as it was possible to be. They didn't deserve to have Enjolras vent his irritation on them. They weren't to blame. Enjolras knew exactly who was to blame in this and he should be taking it out on _him_ , not on his students. _Damn it, Courfeyrac. You promised. You promised you wouldn't load me down with this crap, that I could keep my blackboard and just teach._

Enjolras opened his eyes and turned to apologize to Jackie for snapping… and nearly lost it all over again when he saw that she was no longer behind him, was no longer even in the classroom. Enjolras took another deep breath, cursing the Smartboard, cursing Courfeyrac, cursing technology and cursing the fact that he'd been stuck with a homeroom full of freshmen who didn't even know enough to ask permission before leaving the room. It had been a recipe for disaster from the start. What had Courfeyrac been thinking? It wasn't his first go round the block as assistant principal. He should have caught these things, should have realized it would be a problem and done something about it before it became one, because if Enjolras had made a student cry on the first day of school, the principal would have his ass and justifiably so.

Enjolras took another deep breath, determined not to lose his cool again. His students deserved better than that. Reminding himself, again, that this was not any of their faults, he turned to face his class. They were sitting quietly in their seats, backs ramrod straight, practically breathing in unison. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Enjolras thought, _It's too early in the day for this._ When next he looked up, he had a smile on his face, as warm and welcoming as he could manage. Hesitantly, as though afraid to provoke another outburst, the students in the front row smiled back. Spreading his hands wide Enjolras shrugged. "My apologies. You'll learn after you've been here a few weeks… technology and I don't mix well and the struggle brings out the worst in me. Can one of you tell me where Jackie went? It wasn't my intention to upset her."

With each successive word that rolled from Enjolras' mouth, his students relaxed even further, slumping in their chairs in typical teenaged sprawls. Smiles emerged and some chatter started up in the back of the room. That was better, but still… decorum. Enjolras rapped his knuckles sharply on the desk behind him. An instantaneous hush fell over the room and he smiled in reassurance, raised an eyebrow, and asked, again, "Jackie? Anyone?"

Before the students had a chance to answer, however, an amused voice so dry it would give the Sahara Desert a run for its money spoke up from the doorway. "Don't you fret, Monsieur Enjolras -- I've got your wayward student _and_ a friendly piece of advice which may solve your problem." After a brief pause in which Enjolras could clearly imagine the smirk that would go along with that voice, it continued. "Most equipment works best when turned on."

As that voice rolled out into the room and Jackie snuck back in from behind its source, a frown began taking over the smile Enjolras had painted on for his students. The school wasn't that large and he knew everyone who worked here. This voice -- deep, vibrant, full of humor, and deceptively soft in a way that shot straight through him -- was not one that belonged. Heart pounding with a need to see what unfamiliar face matched that voice -- _please, let it be unfamiliar, please, please, please…_ \-- Enjolras turned towards the door.

Dark, tumbled curls fell haphazardly across the man's forehead, as though he'd rolled out of bed, run a hand through them, then gone about his day without paying his hair a moment's more attention. Judging by the glazed and admiring looks on the faces of most of the girls and several of the boys in the class, they'd be using words like "rakish" and "dashing" to describe it to their friends later on. Enjolras firmly quashed the voice in his head which was insistently piping up with synonyms like "artfully disheveled" and "bedroom hair" to describe the same state. It wasn't any of those things. It was messy and unkempt and far from professional and Enjolras couldn't believe that a man as proper and responsible as Mr. Valjean would have allowed someone to come into the school in any kind of professional capacity looking like that.

Beneath that fall of hair was a crooked nose -- crooked by birth or by human intervention was anyone's guess -- and a set of equally crooked teeth in a mouth just now tipping into a wide grin which certainly _did_ deserve a word like "rakish." _No. Not rakish. 'Insouciant.' 'Insubordinate.' 'Obstinate.' Romanticizing someone's appearance never brings any good with it._ A smattering of pinpoint scars trailed down the man's forehead and disappeared into the fall of hair at his temple and another ragged scar cut across the top of his nose.

…and he still had the bluest eyes Enjolras had ever seen.

The man held up the Smartboard remote, jiggled it in Enjolras' face, then slowly pushed the power button. The screen began to emit a low hum as it powered up. The man pushed another button and, as Courfeyrac's voice began smoothly rolling out into the room with the morning's welcome announcements, the man's smile tipped into a smirk and he saluted Enjolras with the remote. Before Enjolras could utter a single sound in response, the man had placed the remote gently back on Enjolras' desk, spun on his heel, and left the room, a jaunty hitch in his step and a whistle on his lips.

Enjolras stared after him, mouth gaping, eyes wide, and unable to string together a single intelligible statement to explain his distraction. Instead, he ended up pointing at the doorway and gesticulating wildly between it and his class, hoping someone would understand, take pity, and explain. It was _definitely_ too early in the day for this.

Jackie, who had been the one to fetch their unnamed savior, just smiled and said, "That was Mr. Grantaire. He's the new I.T. guy. He was hired this summer to help with the Smartboard installations and they asked him to stay on."

Of course, they did. Of course. Because even in Grantaire's wilder youth, he'd been the best, undoubtedly was even better, now. And Mr. Valjean would have appreciated the necessity of having someone on hand to deal with any problems that would arise when a school which had followed largely traditional methods for teaching was suddenly thrust into the world of cutting edge technology. He would have wanted the best. And no matter what else Enjolras could say about him... Grantaire was the best. And Courfeyrac, being responsible for new hires as part of his duties, would have known that Grantaire had been hired on… and he'd said nothing.

_Damn you, again, Courfeyrac… damn you, again._

* * *

The door to Courfeyrac's office slammed closed so hard that it rattled the glass. Shortly on the heels of the door slamming, Courfeyrac's visitor spoke, voice low and intense, "You're an asshole, you know that? You could have warned me!"

Courfeyrac sighed, put his pen down across the papers he'd been reading, and turned to face Enjolras, clearly unimpressed with the violence of his entrance. "I could have. But then we'd have been having this argument all summer and you would have ruined both our vacations." When Enjolras opened his mouth to rebut that statement, Courfeyrac arched an eyebrow, lips thinning into a firm line. "And I may be an asshole, but right at this moment, in this building, I'm an asshole who's your boss, long time friendship or no."

Enjolras' cheeks colored and he ducked his head, muttering, "Right. Right. I know that. Sorry."

Courfeyrac lifted a hand to his temple and began massaging that pressure point. He'd already been building towards one gigantic headache before Enjolras had come barging into his office trailing his very own low pressure system. Upsetting Enjolras when he was already clearly upset wouldn't help anything. "It's OK, Enjolras. It isn't as though people in this school aren't familiar with how you speak to me… and the few who weren't surely know after that little display." He looked up, a bright gleam shining in his eyes. That same bright gleam had always presaged his most clever mischief in the past and by the widening of Enjolras' eyes, he hadn't forgotten. Waggling his eyebrows for added effect, Courfeyrac asked, "Besides… what are you really upset about? The Smartboard… or our new I.T. expert?"

Enjolras' fair skin flushed even deeper than it had at Courfeyrac's earlier admonishment. His voice, though, was filled with far less anger and instead with a healthy helping of betrayal and hurt feelings, as he softly repeated, "You could have _warned_ me." Far too aware of how plaintive his voice sounded and how that, combined with a face still more pretty than handsome, made him appear far younger than his 35 years, Enjolras crossed his arms over his chest and hunched down. This morning had been one unpleasant shock after another and he needed Courfeyrac to be his friend, right now, not his boss.

Courfeyrac, fortunately, was never one to push his teasing past the point when it was innocently meant or would cause true pain. And this particular subject had been taboo for far too many years to have brought it up so casually. Eyes filled with remorse, he rose and moved from behind his desk to place his hands on Enjolras' shoulders and give them a brief squeeze. Offering Enjolras a soft smile, he said, "Chin up. It's been over ten years. You've both grown up, changed… maybe things will be different."

Enjolras let Courfeyrac feed him a cup of hot soup and half of his sandwich, though he didn't remember ever mentioning that he'd forgotten his lunch. And because Courfeyrac even went so far as to slip a few pieces of chocolate into his pocket when he was busy with the soup -- as sure a sign as any that Courfeyrac did actually feel some remorse about not having warned him -- he let himself be comforted and sent on his way with a pat on the back, just as Courfeyrac would have done for any of the hundreds of distraught teenagers who sought him out on a regular basis. As he trudged morosely down the hall, Enjolras tried not to think too hard about the defiant smirk that had been on Grantaire's face when he'd left the classroom that morning for, like the gleam in Courfeyrac's eyes, Enjolras remembered all too well what it meant.

Grantaire hadn't forgotten, he sure as hell hadn't forgiven, and he was going to make Enjolras work his ass off for every bit of help he needed… and given the sudden upgrade of the technology clogging his classroom, Enjolras was going to be needing more help than usual. By the time he reached his classroom, Enjolras had already finished all three pieces of chocolate and was wishing for something far stronger. Courfeyrac was right about one thing. Things would be different.

…they would be _worse_.

* * *

"Damn it!" Enjolras pushed his chair back from the computer, rubbed his hands hard over his face. _This is ridiculous. This is **beyond** ridiculous. I just want to show a movie. This should not be this hard._ Enjolras glared at the politely blank screen of the Smartboard. He was starting to hate that color blue. At least this was a planning period. At least there were no students to witness his latest humiliation.

Ever since that first inglorious day, Enjolras had managed to teach in such a way as to avoid the necessity of using the Smartboard at all. He had a sliver of blackboard left to the side of the Smartboard and he'd learned to make good use of it. He'd also started doing more group work with the students, getting away from the necessity of needing a board of any kind. The true irony was that the more of the work Enjolras made the students do on their own, the better they seemed to be learning. Certainly their first quiz had reflected that. So, Enjolras had stayed away from the Smartboard and the students had prospered and they had developed a good working system for handling the few times he needed to have them copy notes.

But, today… today Enjolras really wanted to show this video in his AP Government class. They were starting mock trials soon and it always impressed the students to no end to see their own teacher testifying at the Supreme Court. He'd been informed in no uncertain terms by Courfeyrac that the old television sets were not available and he had a brand new Smartboard that was fully capable of playing a DVD and that he should just learn how to use it. But, he _couldn't_. He'd tried. It shouldn't have been that hard, but no matter what button he pushed, no matter what cables he plugged in, he could _not_ get the DVD to play on the Smartboard.

Sighing heavily, Enjolras turned to the phone. No doubt Grantaire could have the DVD up and playing in no time. But, he'd _smirk_. And he'd sneer. And he'd make snide comments and Enjolras just wasn't up for it. So, he picked up the phone and dialed a different number instead. A moment later, a young female voice piped up from the other end. "Room 211, Lauren speaking. How can I help you?"

Enjolras blinked. Huh. That hadn't been what he'd expected… He asked, "Is Mr. Combeferre there?"

Lauren didn't even bother answering him, just yelled across the room -- the phone speaker still right by her ear, Enjolras suspected, given how the volume nearly deafened him as she did it -- "Mr. Combeferre! Mr. Enjolras is on the phone for you!"

When Combeferre took the phone a minute later, a resigned sigh in his indrawn breath before he'd even spoken a word, Enjolras blurted out his difficulties, all but begged him to come down and help. Finally allowed to get that sigh out, Combeferre said, "Enjolras." And it was his patient tone. Enjolras _hated_ that patient tone. It made him feel like a child -- maybe because Combeferre had used it on him so often when he _had_ been a child. "I'm in the middle of a lab class right now. You know that. I can't run down and help you every time you have a disagreement with your classroom equipment."

"And," Combeferre continued in a rush before Enjolras could hang up from pure frustration, "If I find out later that you've called and pestered Courfeyrac with this nonsense, you and I _will_ be having words. He has enough to do without you constantly buzzing in his ear and treating him like your personal assistant. It was inappropriate when he was a fellow teacher and you treated him that way. It's doubly inappropriate now that he's your boss. If you need help, call Grantaire. That's why he was hired."

Before Enjolras had even thought of a proper answer, a dial tone replaced Combeferre's normally calm and reassuring voice. Stunned that his oldest friend had hung up on him without saying so much as a goodbye, Enjolras stared at the phone in his hand for several minutes after the dial tone had begun buzzing from it. Time was, he could have always counted on Combeferre to take his part, to support him in his every move. And Combeferre still did… with one notable exception. When Enjolras was at his most stubborn and Courfeyrac was the one suffering for his stubbornness, well… it was no longer a certainty that Combeferre would take Enjolras' part of the argument. And that was appropriate. It was.

…Enjolras just got so wrapped up in the moment that he would forget sometimes.

Looking back on it, Combeferre had been biting his tongue over The Grantaire Situation for over a month, now. No doubt he thought Enjolras was being childish. No doubt he thought that some fence-mending would solve his problems. No doubt he thought that Enjolras should just take a computer course and get over his technology aversion. No doubt Combeferre was right on every count.

Just as Enjolras began reaching for the phone, deciding he was ready to admit defeat and call Grantaire, a voice spoke up from the doorway. "Little bird mentioned you were having some difficulty with playing a movie, suggested I might mosey on down this way and see what I could do to help… if I was feeling kind."

Raising his eyes to take in the wry smile sitting uneasily on Grantaire's features, the lifted eyebrow and the hunched posture, for a moment, Enjolras thought he might be hallucinating, might somehow be reliving visions of the past. For that hunched posture from which Grantaire could uncoil and be gone from a room before anyone could stay his flight was at jarring odds with the casual confidence he'd seen Grantaire exude in the weeks they'd worked together. It was a harsh reminder of their younger days, when Enjolras had been more prideful, had been crueler, had often spoken without thinking and hurt Grantaire when he had only been trying to help. Enjolras had always preferred the boneless sprawl he would adopt when he planned to dig in and fight it out. He never had appreciated it when Grantaire ran from him, even when he just showed that he wanted to… as he was doing now.

Reacting now as he had eventually learned to in the past when Grantaire took on that hunched posture, Enjolras shrunk back, himself, tried to look as nonthreatening as he could. It was difficult, had always been difficult, as his natural inclination was to stand out, but for Grantaire he would make an effort. Grantaire watched him for a moment, at the way he sat silently, waiting for Grantaire to make the first move, at the frozen image on the computer screen which was clearly not reflected on the Smartboard, at the look of abject embarrassment in Enjolras' eyes, and finally snorted out a soft laugh and said, "Move. I'll help." Before Enjolras could thank him, however, he added under his breath, "That is what they pay me to do, after all."

And if the casual addition of those words knocked the wind from Enjolras' sails faster than anything else could have, he gave no outward indication of it, simply thanked Grantaire as professionally and politely as he could and paid close attention when he was shown how to set up a movie so he wouldn't be forced to ask for help, again. He couldn't let it go entirely at that, though. Just before Grantaire left the room, Enjolras stopped him with a soft, "Little bird's name 'Combeferre.' by any chance?"

Grantaire shook his head, answered, "Nope. This one was named Marius." At Enjolras' narrowed eyes, Grantaire rolled his own and pointed to his right. "You share a wall, Enjolras. He overheard you and when you didn't come to him for help and he didn't hear you call me… I guess he took pity on you and decided to spare you the trouble."

As Grantaire left the room and his students started filing in, Enjolras made a mental note to thank his fellow history teacher later… and to be especially nice to Courfeyrac for the next little while. Combeferre was his best friend, had been since they were small, and as his best friend, Combeferre was willing to forgive him a lot. The fact that the strain of Enjolras' avoidance of Grantaire and his constant nagging at Courfeyrac to fix a situation that really wasn't broken had made Combeferre decide not to help in the one way he quietly could have told Enjolras more clearly than any words how upset Combeferre was with him. He'd overstepped himself. And if Combeferre had cut him off from help… well. Combeferre had never done that before and wouldn't have done it now if it hadn't been deserved -- and Enjolras certainly couldn't argue that it had been. So, perhaps it was time to stop acting like a child and start taking responsibility for his own actions. It was a lesson he'd thought he'd learned long ago, but as with so many things lately, it seemed it was time for a refresher course.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Enjolras and his Smartboard reached a working compromise of sorts. Apart from playing the morning announcements or an occasional video, Enjolras left it alone and it left him alone. It was an arrangement that worked best for everyone, including the students. He didn't touch the PowerPoint program. He didn't touch the "writing" instruments. He didn't touch any of the interactive programs. He didn't touch anything that might, in any way, complicate his teaching. And it was fine. It was wonderful. Sure, it was problematic having it take up so much of the board space just to play the morning announcements, but it worked just fine as a glorified DVD player.

The other teachers teased, of course, poked at Enjolras constantly for refusing to step into the 21st century. They were good-natured about it, certainly, but even that kind teasing hurt when it went on too long. He was a good teacher, damn it. He connected with his students, started real fires in them for learning. He was the teacher they most often came back to after graduating to tell him what a difference he'd made in their lives. He was proud of what he did, couldn't imagine ever doing anything else with his life… but when it came to mixing it with technology he was more accident-prone even than Lesgles.

…at least Enjolras' technology issues hadn't caused any explosions, yet. He had that going for him over Lesgles, at least. Whoever had thought that encouraging that man to pursue a major in chemistry was a good idea… Enjolras shook his head.

The real problem, though, was that sometimes one just really needed a blackboard. And giving students any kind of notes when one only had four square feet of board to work with was difficult, at best. In desperation, he'd ended up back in Courfeyrac's office, hoping his friend would take pity on him since he'd now been a good sport about it for almost two months.

No such luck.

"Enjolras, I wish I could help, I really do, but we can't uninstall your Smartboard."

Two steps away from dropping to his knees and begging, Enjolras asked, "What about a whiteboard? One of the rolling ones. I know we have them -- I've seen them in the building."

Courfeyrac was already shaking his head before the words were half out of his mouth. "No. Enjolras, I can't. They're already in use in other classrooms. You'll really just have to make do."

"What classrooms?" As Courfeyrac's eyes narrowed and the corners of his mouth began to edge downwards, Enjolras hastened to add, "At least let me talk to whoever has them. Maybe they'd be willing to share? Courfeyrac, please… I can't teach like this all year. I'll go insane."

Courfeyrac sighed and shook his head again, but he did write down two names on a slip of paper and handed it over. That same old bright gleam in his eyes at the thought of what would come of this, Courfeyrac said with eerie finality, "Yeah… good luck with that."

* * *

Later that day, Enjolras returned to his classroom more disheartened than he'd been since he'd lost the vote against installing these Smartboards to begin with. Eponine had laughed him right out of the auto shop. The minute he'd seen her name on the paper, Enjolras had known it was a lost cause to persuade her to give up her board, but he'd had to at least try. Of course, he knew the arguments against her giving up that whiteboard as well as she did -- there was nowhere out in the auto garage to put up a Smartboard and given how expensive they were, there was far too much risk of one getting destroyed out there to risk putting one in. The school wasn't willing to foot the bill for that risk and neither was Eponine. And he hadn't needed to see the look of utter glee on her face when she caught sight of the other name on the paper to know that getting that whiteboard would be an equally lost cause. She'd even had the nerve to wish him luck. Only, with the kind of luck Enjolras had been having lately, he'd be laughed out of the gym, too.

Javert hadn't laughed. Enjolras had to give the man credit for that much. He hadn't laughed. He hadn't said much of anything, really. Enjolras had found him out on the field, supervising the sophomores as they ran their warm-up laps. Enjolras had opened his mouth to ask the question, then shut it just as quickly, shoulders slumping at the painful understanding in Javert's eyes. He'd heard then. Of course, he'd heard. It was uncanny, really, the way Javert always seemed to know what was going on around the school. He was more well-informed that Principal Valjean, usually. Finally, Javert put a hand on Enjolras' shoulder and gave it a small squeeze, gruffly saying, "I'm sorry. We change location between the gym and outside often enough that we need something portable. The whiteboard is the only choice we have. I'm sorry I can't be of more assistance, but there's nothing I can do for you."

And that was that. Enjolras wasn't getting a whiteboard unless he went out and bought his own. He thought briefly about asking Feuilly if he could borrow an easel from the art room for a large sketchpad… but with the sheer number of large pads he'd have to buy for the year, that could quickly get more expensive even than buying his own whiteboard. There really was no alternative. He'd just have to make do with what he had the best he could.

Disheartened, and more ready to just give it all up than he'd been since his first year teaching, Enjolras at first didn't notice that something had changed in his classroom when he returned. However, once he'd sat down at his desk, it was hard to miss the large stack of transparencies and overhead markers sitting in the middle of his daily lesson plans. And sitting atop them was a note.

Enjolras wished he could claim that he needed to see the ornately scrawled 'R' in the corner to know who his secret benefactor had been, but the sad truth was that he still recognized Grantaire's handwriting, though he hadn't seen it in a decade.

_~Another little bird said you were getting desperate. I make no guarantees about how well it works, but hopefully this will tide you over until you get that Smartboard figured out.~_

Looking up from his desk, Enjolras finally spotted the addition to his room. Grantaire wasn't kidding -- it was a dinosaur of an overhead projector, had probably been old since before Mr. Valjean had opened the school thirty years ago… but to Enjolras, it was nothing less than a godsend. _This_ was technology he could understand. Finally.

* * *

The rumors started innocently, quietly, as rumors often do. It was weeks before even Javert heard anything. The students were careful to keep their comments even more to themselves than usual. Of course, when rumors that juicy come around, it never takes long for them to start reaching inappropriate ears.

 _"Did you see? Mr. Grantaire was in Mr. Enjolras' room, again."_  
"Really? He's in there helping Mr. Enjolras more than all the other teachers combined!"  
"I know, right? Weird."  
"Yeah… weird."

Courfeyrac heard those rumors and said nothing. He knew, better than anyone, how confronting a rumor could explode it all over a community faster than it ever could manage on its own. He and Combeferre had fallen victim to that particular rumor mill three years ago. It had nearly ruined the budding romance that they'd both already been afraid to pursue. After so many years being friends, it was hard to convince oneself to rock the boat, especially when one worked with the other person in question. The grinding of the student rumor mill, however, had forced their hands long before either was ready for it and nearly ruined everything. Fortunately for them both, the principal was supportive and most of their fellow teachers were old friends.

…and there had been Enjolras.

Courfeyrac smiled. Once he'd gotten over the initial shock, Enjolras had become their staunchest supporter, had browbeat them both into accepting that it was ridiculous to not even try for something more just because they were afraid to lose what they had. And that was a large part of why Courfeyrac had no desire to detonate this particular rumor. For all they'd fought in college, for all they'd torn each other up before they'd learned how not to, Enjolras and Grantaire had been good for each other once. And if they were to have any kind of a chance of reconciliation -- and Courfeyrac would deny to his dying breath that that had been a large part of the reason he'd sought Grantaire out to install the Smartboards to begin with -- Courfeyrac couldn't risk the students getting involved. Not yet, anyway. Neither of those two was strong enough to deal with it. So, he kept watch, he listened… and he intervened where he could.

 _"Seriously, guys, how often can a bulb need to be changed?"_  
"OMG, are you kidding me? It went out, again?"  
"Right in the middle of class. It was such a pain in the ass."  
"Wow. Mr. Grantaire must be buying them in bulk or something with how often they cut out. Why the hell is Mr. Enjolras still using that projector, anyway?"  
"Beats the hell out of me, man. I just wish he'd get with the program. I mean, he's a great teacher, don't get me wrong, but how early 90s can you get?"  
"Seriously."

Jean Prouvaire heard those rumors and immediately wanted to jump to the romantic conclusion -- the bulbs were going out that often because Enjolras was burning them out on purpose -- but he also knew, as well as anyone, that Enjolras didn't have it in him to be that subtle. When he wanted something, he went after it, no holds barred. And as volatile an item as Enjolras and Grantaire had been in college, Enjolras would not choose now to alter his modus operandi. He didn't have it in him. But, still… he couldn't help but hope. There'd been such potential for joy between the two of them once, and Jehan still wasn't sure what had gone so wrong back then. To have seen them so brutally rip each other apart before that joy had a chance to properly take root had broken Jehan's heart as surely as it had theirs. He wanted nothing more than for his friends to be happy -- and wasn't love the ultimate happiness?

So, because he hoped, Jehan also began secretly wishing. The current seniors had started a campaign when they were freshman to bring Combeferre and Courfeyrac together. It had all been very "Clueless" of them -- and it had nearly backfired, true -- but in the end, it had _worked_. So, Jehan secretly hoped that the seniors would take an interest in the newest pair of hopeless idiots in the school and do something to help them out, too.

It didn't hurt to hope, after all… did it?

 _"Hey."_  
"What?"  
"Isn't that Mr. Enjolras?"  
"…holy shit. Yeah, it is. What the hell is he doing in this part of the library?"  
"The hell should I know? Can you see what book he's got?"  
"Bet it's 'Smartboards for Dummies.'"  
"Oh, shut up. That's mean."  
"Yeah, but-- …holy shit, again. It **is** 'Smartboards for Dummies.'"  
"No way. I thought he gave up on that when he started with the projector."  
"Heh. Maybe he's trying to impress Mr. Grantaire."  
"…you think?"  
"…do you?"  
"Whoa… I don't know, but I'd sure as hell put some money on it."  
"You are _so_ on."

Cosette found out when she caught two students keeping book on it instead of working on their group trig exam. When she figured out what it was that had them so occupied, it took everything she had in her not to immediately run down the hall to the physics lab to share the non-news with Musichetta. She didn't know Grantaire, hadn't been friends with the group when they were in college, but she'd gotten to know Enjolras quite well over the years. With he and her husband working in the same department all this time, she'd gotten used to his zeal and come to appreciate it. He brought out a fire and passion in Marius that few others did -- even if it was mostly to disagree with him -- and Cosette would have loved him for no other reason than that, but… there was more.

Enjolras was the kind of man who could have made of himself anything he chose -- lawyer, politician, judge, demagogue -- he could have done it all. He had all the connections, all the right breeding, all the right friends and schooling. In another time, people would have followed him to his beloved barricades and beyond. And he'd chosen to take that charm, that charisma, and his need for a better future and channel it into teaching. Cosette respected that. Cosette admired that. Her father had done the same, after all, and inspired her own love of teaching in the process. But, as with her father, she also couldn't help but see what a lonely existence Enjolras had, standing so tall, proud… and alone. So, Cosette also hoped that someday he'd find someone to share it with, as Marius had found her. And the stories his old friends told of Grantaire…

Of course, she'd heard stories of how volatile their relationship had been. It was impossible to tell the good stories without also telling the bad, after all. But, still, there had to have been a fire underneath all that smoke, once… didn't there?

Lifting the betting spread paper from her student's desk, Cosette raised her voice to say, "Gentlebeings, it seems your classmates have an independent study project going awry here. Who among you has contributed money to said project?" Shaking her head sadly at those who wouldn't meet her eyes, Cosette continued, "Well, you may be dismayed to note that your money has been mishandled. And since the mishandling of a betting spread is one thing I simply cannot abide… please put your test papers aside. We are going to have a refresher on probability and statistics."

At the end of class, Cosette quietly slipped one of the students she'd caught a $20 bill and whispered, "Two months, Enjolras makes the first move. Don't let me down, gentlemen."

* * *

Of course, rumors are what rumors are. The more one tried to keep something quiet, the wider and faster it would spread. It wasn't long before the entire population of the school had money in on the betting pool about Mr. Enjolras and Mr. Grantaire. Courfeyrac rolled his eyes at the fuss, recognizing well the student body on the hunt for a new school scandal. It happened. As long as Enjolras and Grantaire didn't find out, it was harmless.

…as long as Enjolras didn't find out, that was. Grantaire, though… Courfeyrac suspected it was already too late for that. The narrow-eyed glares that preceded Grantaire into a room wherever a gaggle of students was gossiping were a little too pointed, a little too intense. The abrupt way he answered whenever the students asked, always far too casually, if he was seeing anyone, was just barely to this side of rude -- and sometimes not to this side, at all. The way he snarled at Courfeyrac whenever he was asked how things were going… oh, yes. Grantaire already knew, of that Courfeyrac was certain. But, he had his own reasons for keeping silent, Courfeyrac was sure. Grantaire was grateful for this job, happy to be here… and past experience had to be screaming at him that if one of them had to go, it wouldn't be Enjolras. Enjolras had been here longer. Enjolras was one of Courfeyrac's best friends. And none of them had ever chosen Grantaire over Enjolras before. So, he probably felt it behooved him to keep silent and not let those rumors get the better of him. So, he did.

But that didn't mean that he wasn't steaming about it. Courfeyrac could see him easing just a bit closer to boiling over every time he passed him in the halls on the way to Enjolras' classroom. He had his own suspicions about why the bulbs were cutting out on that projector so often, had his own doubts that it was happening as accidentally as Enjolras claimed, thought perhaps the students might be somehow involved, but since replacement bulbs kept magically appearing in Grantaire's office or his mailbox, Courfeyrac just shook his head and smiled. They'd work it out. Somehow they always did.

…Courfeyrac just hoped they didn't implode his school in the process. 

* * *

"Again?"

Unclenching his jaw quickly as he felt his teeth start to grind, Enjolras spat out, "Yes, _again_. I know you said it was old, but is it really normal for the bulbs to go out that often?"

Grantaire leaned back in his chair, tipping the front two legs off the ground and regarding Enjolras from under hooded eyes. Being an inner office, there were no windows to the outside, no light but what was provided by the overhead lights -- currently turned off -- and the desk lamps scattered around the various work tables. Grantaire had been prone to fits of melancholy back in school, most notably when he'd been heavily drinking, and this need to live and work in a veritable cave was the least understandable aspect of it to Enjolras. The way those desk lamps highlighted open computers and bits of circuitry, the way that under lighting threw Grantaire's prominent nose and cheekbones into such relief, creating shadows and darkness where normally there was vibrant light and amusement… walking in here had been like walking into the lair of an evil overlord. It put Enjolras on edge, made him leery of putting a foot wrong, and deeply worried that he already had.

Enjolras had thought that he and Grantaire had established a good working relationship, had finally put the past aside so that they could exist around each other without destroying each other. He'd thought they were cautiously building a friendship, starting over. He'd thought he sometimes saw a smile on Grantaire's face -- a real one, not the mocking one he so often wore when untangling Enjolras' latest technological screw up. He had seemed cautiously happy when Enjolras began picking up coffee for him in the morning. It was a small thing, but Enjolras had been pleased, happy that he remembered what Grantaire liked, happy that they hadn't changed so much that they couldn't at least have this. It was a small thing, a very small thing… but the way Grantaire's eyes lit up when his hands closed about that hot coffee, the warmth in his smile when he realized that Enjolras had done this for _him_ , to have an excuse to spend time with Grantaire outside of his technology problems… to reclaim something that was _theirs_ … Enjolras loved it and he thought Grantaire had, too. But, this…

Grantaire had been defensive from the first moment Enjolras knocked on the door to his office. Enjolras never thought twice about visiting Jean Prouvaire in the Foreign Language office or Bahorel in the English office or Combeferre in the biology lab. They were his friends and they all had open-door policies for each other. So, Enjolras hadn't thought twice about coming down here, already counted Grantaire enough of a friend that such a visitation should have been routine, should have been accepted.

It wasn't.

Enjolras had seen it the moment he'd pushed open the door to Grantaire's office. Grantaire didn't want him here, was defensive about having Enjolras in this most personal of spaces in a way that Enjolras hadn't seen him be about anything since they'd staged that ridiculous intervention about his drinking back in college. Like then, Enjolras had made a mistake, now, completely misread a situation he'd thought he finally had under control, and he was embarrassed. And Enjolras, when embarrassed, often lashed out.

Feeling that familiar clench in his stomach as Grantaire's boneless sprawl in the chair began to feel like a dare to say something, to be the one to spark off that fight, Enjolras deliberately took a deep breath… and stepped back from the edge. He said, "I'm sorry to have butted in on you. I'm sure you're busy, so whenever you get a chance will be fine. I'll make do."

The front legs of the chair came down with such abrupt finality that Enjolras winced. He wanted nothing more than to get out of that office, back to his brightly lit classroom and his tiny sliver of board and his finicky overhead projector and his safe little world where students asked brilliant questions and he could just _teach_. Enjolras had his hand on the doorknob -- was, in fact, already turning it -- when Grantaire's next salvo reached his ears.

"I can't decide if you're as much of an elitist little shit as you're coming across or if you're just scared."

Enjolras spun back around, an enraged denial on his lips, ready to engage Grantaire, good intentions be damned… and stopped, dumbfounded. Grantaire was facing away from him, now, was bent over his phone and tapping away, tongue caught lightly between his teeth in concentration, a glint in his eyes as he beat the next board on whatever puzzle game he'd brought up to occupy his attention. Enjolras hesitated to respond, suddenly unsure that Grantaire had spoken, at all. He turned back towards the door, ready to once again attempt leaving… and, sure enough, just as his hand touched the doorknob, Grantaire's voice sounded, again.

"Because if you're truly just scared, I can work with that… but if you're that much of an elitist little shit, there's nothing anyone can do for you but leave you alone with your privileged self-righteousness."

Enjolras turned back, an angry retort in his mouth, ready and waiting to fire… but he didn't. Why? Why was Grantaire doing this? Why ruin everything they'd built over the last several months? The answer was obvious. Grantaire was scared. He only ever attacked this savagely when Enjolras had said something, had done something, that hit just a little too close to home for comfort, came a little too close to making Grantaire feel… something. So, what had he said? What had he done? What wasn't he understanding? Taking a deep breath, Enjolras said, "Grantaire, this isn't helping." When Grantaire opened his mouth -- no doubt to fire back a biting and sarcastic retort of his own -- Enjolras shook his head, held up a hand. "I can see quite clearly I've upset you. I realize I shouldn't have barged in here without asking and I apologize, but this… Grantaire, there's more to this than that and if you think I can't see it… you must truly think me an idiot."

Putting his phone down, Grantaire finally uncoiled from his chair. There was a look in his eyes, something dark, a little dangerous… and very, _very_ angry. Enjolras flushed, body tightening in reaction. He recognized that look. That was the look which preceded every truly bad argument they'd ever had -- the kind of argument that had always landed them in bed, working out their anger on each other's bodies because they just couldn't do it any other way. Only, that wasn't an option anymore and Enjolras didn't know what to do with his own reaction to that look, couldn't even understand how Grantaire was giving it and remaining so unaffected.

Eyes glinting with that barely repressed anger, Grantaire spoke, low and intense, in that voice that had always made the blood rush straight from Enjolras' brain to his groin. And that wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all.

"Someone must think you're worthwhile since they hired me with the express purpose of holding your hand through this. I think you and I both know who that someone is, but so far I haven't seen much to show me why you deserve that help. You complain about that Smartboard like it's the enemy and Courfeyrac had it installed simply to make your life miserable. Have you ever even thought about what you could do with it? How it might enhance your teaching?" 

Grantaire cut Enjolras off with an abrupt wave of his hand when he moved to interrupt. "You asked why I was upset. I'm telling you. You… fucking _Christ_ I forgot how privileged you all were. You grew up with money. You grew up with power, with _opportunities_ , that some of us never even dreamed of having. You want to go visit the Eiffel Tower? No problem. You hop on a plane. You want to see how the government works, first hand? No sweat. Daddy makes a phone call to Senator Uncle John Schmucko the Third and you're on your way to Washington to sit in on a Senate hearing. You want to learn about other cultures, sample foreign delicacies? You hire the chef who works for the Japanese Ambassador to cater your next dinner party and then invite the Ambassador along."

Voice rising, hands clenching, Grantaire took a step closer to deliver his next words. "Do you even understand that not everyone grew up like that? Half these kids will never leave this town, much less this state. A lot of them will never eat at a fancy restaurant, much less one that doesn't have a menu of burgers and fries. Most of them will never know what it's like to sit in the Senate and watch laws get made. _A Smartboard can help you give them some of those things that you take for granted and they'll never have._ "

Throwing his hands up in disgust, Grantaire marched back to his desk, dropped himself back into his chair, "But what the fuck do I know, right? I'm just the I.T. guy."

Enjolras stared at Grantaire. Grantaire stared at his phone. Enjolras' mouth was dropped wide open, his eyes felt big as dinner plates. Every ounce of eloquence he'd ever possessed fled him in that moment. He'd never… he'd never… The longer he stood there silent, the deeper Grantaire's scowl got. He couldn't… he couldn't…

Tossing out the first excuse that came to mind, Enjolras did the only thing he could do -- he ran.

* * *

"Joly, you have to help me! I know you, Lesgles and Musichetta kept in touch with him after college. You know him better than I ever did. I screwed up. I screwed up badly and I _don't know what to do_. You have to tell me how to fix this." At Joly's skeptical look, Enjolras lunged over the nurse's station desk and grabbed his hands, eyes full of earnest desperation. "Please. _Help me._ "

Joly sighed. He'd known it would come to this, of course. He'd warned R about it over the summer when he'd first considered staying on at the school. Enjolras had matured in many, many ways since college, had truly learned to channel his drive to effect real, positive change… but in many ways, he was still a product of his upbringing, still a product of the sense of privilege which had driven he and R apart to begin with. And he and R were who they were… still a powder keg just waiting for the right spark.

But, R needed this job. He needed the money and he needed the steady work. He needed a place he'd feel safe, a place he could call his own. The years post-college hadn't been easy ones for him and he'd hit the bottom of the barrel more than once. The last time… Joly preferred not to think about the last time. But, the last time had finally gotten R sober and given him the discipline to keep that way. Joly was not eager to see him lose every step he'd made forwards because of Enjolras and his stubborn pride.

Judging by how Grantaire and Enjolras been reacting to each other, lately, however, it was already far too late to intercede and get them away from each other again. Joly would never tell anyone else this, but just last night he'd found R sitting in his living room, an empty tumbler and a bottle of whiskey -- still unopened, thank G-d -- on the table in front of him, an utterly blank look in his eyes, like he couldn't even remember why he'd taken out the whiskey to begin with, much less why he shouldn't drink it. He'd cradled the bottle during the entire discussion that followed, like a child with a security blanket. He'd let Joly take the bottle, eventually, let him put it back in its spot of honor in Joly's liquor cabinet -- the last bottle of alcohol Grantaire had ever bought, and the one he never planned to drink -- and Musichetta had come along then and suggested that she had something far better to drown their sorrows in than alcohol. Joly, Lesgles and Grantaire had spent the rest of the evening baking with her -- brownies, chocolate chip cookies, cupcakes with rainbow chip frosting. It was a wonder none of them had gotten sick off it all, but Joly wouldn't have cared even if they had. The festivities had broken R out of his melancholy enough to have that bit of fun, enough to feel brave enough to walk into work today.

…and then _this_.

Scowling hard at Enjolras' earnest face, Joly pulled his hands back, deliberately slathered them with Purell and rubbed them vigorously together. He did _not_ approve of Enjolras' insistence on butting back into R's life at this juncture -- not at all -- but at this point… really that ship had sailed. So, there was nothing left for it but to minimize the damage as best he could. Sighing heavily, he said, "You want to fix this?" At Enjolras' vehement nod, Joly braced his hands on his desk and pushed himself out of his chair to tower over Enjolras as he hissed the next words right into his face. " _Learn to use your fucking Smartboard._ "

With no further preamble, Joly stormed out of his own office, leaving a bewildered Enjolras behind.

* * *

Relations between Enjolras and Grantaire were strained at best, after that. Enjolras was afraid to say more than a few words to Grantaire, paranoid that he would put a foot wrong again, and ashamed that it had taken hurting Grantaire to see what he should have seen to begin with -- that his Smartboard was a gift, not a curse.

Enjolras got the "Smartboards for Dummies" book back out of the library, began pouring over it in every spare moment he had, determined to understand this thing that was stumping him so severely. The more he read, the more ashamed he became. It wasn't that hard. It really, really wasn't that hard. He joined an online discussion group, started tentatively sending out requests for ideas about what could be done with a Smartboard. What Grantaire had mentioned was barely the tip of the iceberg.

After another few weeks, Enjolras finally risked turning the thing on -- after school had ended, when no one would be around to see what was sure to be his first miserable failure among many… but it didn't explode. It didn't give him that screen of blue death which he'd dreaded it would. It powered on… and displayed what was currently on the computer monitor. So, book open in his hands and pages of detailed notes spread over his desk, Enjolras had picked up the red "marker"… and written three words:

_Vive la révolution!_

Heard pounding with the small success of finding the correct pace to write at so the marker didn't skip, Enjolras drew and colored in a French flag beneath the words. It wasn't much… but it was a start.

* * *

The students noticed the change first, of course. Enjolras began using the Smartboard to give notes, after a little longer, even began preparing PowerPoint slides. It really wasn't that difficult. Every time someone called him on it, he burned with embarrassment that he'd resisted for so long. He burned with further embarrassment that even with all he'd learned, this was the best he could do. He'd researched. He'd _studied_. Smartboards really were capable of so much more than being glorified overhead projectors and DVD players, but he'd really done all he could on his own without asking for help… and he was loathe to ask for that help.

Of course… that had yet to stop Grantaire from offering.

"Little bird told me something was going on down here that I had to see for myself."

Enjolras' heart lurched in his chest at that familiar voice, at the wariness beneath the words. Swallowing hard and busying himself with tidying his papers to give him an excuse not to look up, he said, "Which little bird was it this time?"

Grantaire snorted as he shuffled closer. "All of them. And a few score of students. Seems they have a vested interest in mending whatever went wrong between us."

Enjolras finally looked up at that, blinked several times as if clearing his vision might make those words make any more sense. Finally he simply said, "What?"

Grantaire waved off the question with a self-deprecating smile. "You know what? Never mind. It's not important." Nodding towards the Smartboard, he added, "Why don't you show me what you can do with it and I'll see about helping you with the next step?"

So, Enjolras did. And maybe he showed off a little, showed Grantaire that he'd figured out how to select words and objects on the notepad and move them to different spots, showed him that he'd figured out how to do some basic animating, too. And with everything Enjolras showed him, Grantaire's smile widened a little more, became just a little more real. When he finished his demonstration with a little flourish, Enjolras was almost shaking with anticipation of Grantaire's verdict on his skills. He'd worked hard. He _had_. Courfeyrac had praised his efforts -- but Courfeyrac would have praised him just for turning the damned thing on at this point -- and Combeferre had gripped his shoulder, eyes shining with pride when he'd shown off for him… but this was different. Grantaire knew inside and out what this thing could do, and Grantaire was the one he'd most disappointed.

After another minute had passed with Grantaire having nothing to say, Enjolras shrank in on himself. He'd thought for sure… Finally, he mumbled, "I… I realize it isn't much. I'm sure everyone else is better at it, but I'm _try_ \--"

Halfway through that word, before Enjolras even had a chance to look up, much less prepare for it, a pair of lips had crashed into his. And that kiss… holy _fuck_ , that kiss… it was hard, it was desperate, it was everything their argument sex had ever been -- a physical need to express emotion, to express _thought_ , so intense that it simply couldn't be expressed any other way -- rolled into one bright moment of connection and turned on its ear to express joy instead of anger. When they parted, Grantaire was beaming and Enjolras just knew that he had the most ridiculous Pontmercy-worthy smile on his face, too, and he _didn't care_. He breathed out, "I did good?"

Grantaire laughed, leaned forwards to plant another kiss on his lips. "You did _well_."

Enjolras growled, pulled Grantaire closer. "I'm a history teacher, not an English teacher."

As Enjolras spoke, Grantaire's gaze traveled downwards, away from Enjolras' eyes to his lips. As Enjolras' words trailed off under that scrutiny, he said, "If I don't get my mouth on you right now, I'm going to explode."

"The closet with the school servers in it is across the hall."

"Perfect."

Enjolras knew what was happening, knew that he and Grantaire had never developed healthy patterns of behavior when it came to dealing with any of the extremes they felt for each other and they were far from ready for this step. He really should put a stop to it before it went any further, but that smile… those lips… that fucking _kiss_ … and Enjolras had been primed for this since that disastrous discussion they'd had in Grantaire's office three weeks ago. He didn't have it in him to be the one to say no.

Grantaire pushed him into the closet and into the back shelving as he turned and closed the door. The noise of the door closing was loud in that small contained space, barely covered by the hum of the servers. Enjolras wince. "We're going to get caught."

"No we're not. No one ever comes in here but me."

"Jesus, _fuck_." Enjolras bit down on his knuckle, worried at it as Grantaire pulled at his belt, slowly drawing it from the loops of his trousers. He should put a stop to this. It was a bad idea. It was a _horrendous_ idea. " **Fuck!** " Staring down at a Grantaire who had dropped to his knees in front of him, Enjolras' eyes went wide and his breath caught. Grantaire had barely so much as breathed on him and he was already so hard he could barely see straight.

The moment Enjolras' gaze locked with his, Grantaire smirked and slowly lowered to take Enjolras' length into his mouth, flirting his tongue briefly around the head before fluttering it down the underside. Enjolras' knees threatened to buckle and only a quick grab at the shelf behind him saved him from collapsing on top of Grantaire, a move that would certainly have ended the festivities but not in a way Enjolras would have liked. A high-pitched whine built in the back of his throat and slowly leaked out around his hand as Grantaire dragged his lips up, then down, then back up once more, fluttering his tongue in that maddening pulse the entire time.

When he came up the second time, Grantaire released him and slowly turned his face upwards, an incredulous lift to his eyebrows as he took in the already thoroughly debauched image of a panting Enjolras above him. That wry smile firmly in place as he watched Enjolras try to collect himself, Grantaire said, "Wow. I don't remember you being this sensitive. Been a while?"

Enjolras let out a small sob of a breath and reached out a shaking hand to brace against the door over Grantaire's head. The sight of him on his knees lit by the blinking lights of the gently humming servers made him look like some fey creature come to Earth to dally for a time with a mortal. It seemed right -- he was at home here. In this place, in the glow of those fairy lights… he was beautiful. Trying and failing to string words together in any kind of intelligible fashion, Enjolras finally got out, "Where… the fuck… did you learn how to… _do_ that?"

Grantaire chuckled, eyes glinting dangerously. "Where do you think?"

Enjolras let out a small groan as he let his head bang back against the shelf behind him. Fuck. Courfeyrac. Of course, it had to have been Courfeyrac. Come to think on it, Enjolras remembered Bahorel, Eponine and Jehan having a drunken, awe-filled discussion about something after a meeting once in college. He'd had no context then to understand what they'd been talking about, but given what Grantaire had just done, he thought he might understand that conversation, now. Had _everyone_ slept with Courfeyrac but him? He didn't realize he'd said that last bit out loud, much less in such an aggrieved tone, until Grantaire hunched in on himself below him. Oh, no. No, no, no. Dropping to his own knees, Enjolras chucked a finger under Grantaire's chin and redirected that suddenly shy gaze towards his own where it belonged. Once he had Grantaire's attention, Enjolras said softly, "I don't own you, R. I don't now and I didn't then. We were hardly exclusive back then…"

The nickname was a risk. Enjolras wasn't entirely sure he'd earned the right to use it again, yet, but it accomplished its end for now. Smiling, though he was shaking his head, Grantaire said, "I know that. I just… what are we doing?" Running a hand through already messy curls, Grantaire leaned away, braced himself against the door. "We're not college kids anymore. Blowjobs in closets? Fuck, Enjolras… do you even like me?"

"Of course, I like you!" At the raised eyebrows Grantaire pinned him with in response to that statement, Enjolras blushed, suddenly wondering if he was answering the same question Grantaire was asking. Stuttering over the words, Enjolras added, "I wouldn't be here with you if I didn't, would I?"

Huffing out a short, bitter laugh, Grantaire drawled, "I don't know, Enjolras. You didn't like me much then, and we sure as fuck ended up in our fair share of closets." When Enjolras looked like he'd like to protest, Grantaire waved a hand and said, "No. Don't bother. Look. This was never our strong suit and that was fine when we were kids, but we're not kids anymore. And us ending up in here today was more my fault than yours, so I'll take the lion's share of the blame for it gladly. Here's the thing, though, Enjolras," Ticking them off on his fingers, Grantaire listed, "'Like,' 'love,' and 'if I don't fuck you now I will explode' are not the same thing. And, as responsible adults, I think we need to figure out which one of those we've got going on before we end up in anymore closets, OK?"

Enjolras nodded dumbly in agreement, wishing more than ever that he'd kept his mouth shut. He was a gifted orator, he could play a class discussion like a maestro, and no one but Combeferre could match him in rhetoric… but somehow he'd always failed abysmally at saying the right thing to Grantaire. Looked like some things hadn't changed. Hastily tucking himself in and fixing his clothing and hair as best he could, Enjolras nodded again at Grantaire to indicate he was ready. As they both climbed to their feet, however, the doorknob started to turn before either had gotten their hand anywhere near it.

Lunging for the doorknob and only succeeding in running into each other, Enjolras and Grantaire could do nothing but resign themselves to their fate as the door creaked open…

…and stopped when it was open barely a crack.

"If you two are done, already, then either we all need to have a discussion about stamina and ways in which one can improve it, or we need to have a discussion about how frustrating it is that I had to scramble out of my office to stand guard for you under false pretenses."

Sagging against each other in pure relief, Enjolras and Grantaire both engaged in a moment of breathless laughter. Grantaire pushed the door open to be greeted by Courfeyrac's frowning, yet hopeful, face. "How'd you know?"

Courfeyrac shrugged. "I'm telling you, man. How do I ever know anything in this school?" At Grantaire's raised eyebrow, Courfeyrac's grin widened. "Javert knows everything and it's lovely to have a spy on my payroll."

Enjolras blushed wildly even as Grantaire groaned and threw an arm around Courfeyrac's shoulders to lead him away. Hastily getting himself out of the closet, Enjolras fled across the hall to his classroom. It wouldn't do to get caught here and, according to his watch, the students were due out of their club period any minute. It wasn't until he was safely back in his room with the door firmly closed and locked behind him that Enjolras allowed himself the luxury of cursing over what had just… _not_ happened.

Of those three options Grantaire had given him, Enjolras knew damned well which he felt… which he'd always felt. Now, it only remained to figure out exactly how to convince Grantaire that he was sincere… something he now wanted more than anything.

* * *

It took Enjolras another month to put it together. There were e-mails and a formal letter, phone calls, and forms to fill out, but in the end, Enjolras got the permissions he needed, both from his students and from Judge Lamarque. They'd kept in touch over the years, after Enjolras testified in front of her at the Supreme Court. She'd been impressed with him, impressed with his poise, his gift for speaking, his way of driving straight to the point in a way that forced others to go with him. She'd been disappointed, perhaps, when he ultimately chose to teach and not pursue politics or the law, but they'd discussed it since and she claimed to understand his reasons. Certainly she was still willing to help out when she could. And today… she could.

Enjolras had asked Grantaire to help him set up a two way feed -- one direction to show a remote location on the Smartboard in his classroom and the other to show his classroom on a monitor in another location. It had been difficult to get his help without telling him what he needed it for, but Enjolras had somehow managed it.

Today was the day.

Of course, he'd invited Grantaire to be in on it. Word had spread quickly from there and every one of his friends who was not teaching those periods managed to find their way into the room, as well. At the gathering crowd, and at the appearance of both Courfeyrac _and_ Mr. Valjean -- and the superintendent of schools along with them -- Enjolras began to sweat, to doubt that he was really ready for this step, but one smile of reassurance from Combeferre and a mischievous grin from Courfeyrac was all it took to resettle his nerves.

Once everyone was in place, Enjolras turned on the feed… and waited. A moment later, Judge Lamarque's face filled the screen. Enjolras smiled and introduced her to the class. He settled back, then, let Judge Lamarque give her eager audience a brief explanation of how an issue was brought before the Supreme Court, of the procedures involved and what they could expect and when it would be appropriate for them to have input.

As he watched the rapt expressions on the faces of his students, Enjolras couldn't have been more proud of them if he was father to each and every of them. They were about to witness history in the making -- live, right in front of them -- and more than that, they would have a chance to participate, to be a part of it. Grantaire had been right. Enjolras _had_ taken that for granted, hadn't realized how much more he could be giving his students than what he did. Well, he'd learned. He'd learned well. Catching Grantaire's gaze as the court was called into session, he smiled and mouthed, "Because of _you_. All of this… because of you."

Grantaire's breath caught and a suspicious sheen filled his eyes. Enjolras' smile softened, but he didn't call him on it, not then.

Teachers and students filed in and filed out as necessary to attend other classes, but by the end of the day, all of Enjolras' students had had a chance to be in on that court session, and no one could deny what an impact that inclusion had had. Even Joly stopped in at one point, and whatever he saw, it was clear he'd made a decision in that time… and judging by the sincere smile and the thumbs-up gesture he tossed at Grantaire on the way out, that decision had been in Enjolras' favor.

Grantaire stayed the entire day. He stayed until the last student filed out. He stayed through Enjolras' discussion with the administration and the round of congratulatory backslapping from Enjolras' two oldest friends before they left. He stayed to help Enjolras disconnect all the extraneous equipment. He let Enjolras help him carry it back to his office, invited him inside without hesitation. Then he turned to Enjolras and raised an eyebrow, silently asking the million dollar question.

Enjolras stepped closer, took Grantaire into his arms and placed a soft, butterfly brush of a kiss on dry, chapped lips. He said simply, "When you gave me my choices that day, you forgot one." As Grantaire's second eyebrow rose to join his first, Enjolras smiled and said, "All of the above and much more besides." Peppering each response with a kiss to some piece of exposed skin, Enjolras listed off, "I like you. I admire you. I respect you. I trust you. I love that you make me think about the world in ways I never would have without your influence. I love that you challenge me to be better. I love _you_ …" As he finished placing that last kiss at the juncture of Grantaire's neck and shoulder, he trailed off, waited just long enough for Grantaire to refocus darkness-dilated eyes on him before finishing with, "And if I don't fuck you now I think I really will explode."

At that, Grantaire pulled Enjolras into a kiss. It was softer than any other they'd ever exchanged had been, but was no less passionate, no less powerful. In fact… it might have been even more so. Enjolras had the wild notion as their tongues met that he could taste Grantaire's heart in that kiss. When they broke apart, Enjolras leaned in, touched their foreheads together and said, "Grantaire… we both made more than our fair share of mistakes in the past, but I regret none more than the one I made which forced you out of our lives. I think maybe I've grown up enough to warrant a second chance, and I think you have, too. So… what's _your_ answer?"

Grantaire watched him for a moment more, eyes weighing, measuring, what they saw in Enjolras' gaze. And finally… _finally_ … he smiled -- a true smile, not a hint of darkness to it but the darkness of desire… of love. "All of the above, and much more besides, Enjolras. Much, _much_ more besides."


End file.
